In the Valley of Frozen Leaves
by Road of Ruin
Summary: The only thing greater than the hunt is the prize that must be caught to be enjoyed. (Or, the one where Tony and the kids try to convince Loki his Jotun form is more than just a monster by leading him through a merry chase into the woods, blindfolded.) JaRoaS-verse, oneshot.


**Summary:** The only thing greater than the hunt is the prize that must be caught to be enjoyed. (Or, the one where Tony and the kids try to convince Loki his Jotun form is more than just a monster by leading him through a merry chase into the woods, blindfolded.) _JaRoaS_-verse, **oneshot.**

**Fandom:** Marvel's _The Avengers, _Norse Mythology

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** FrostIron – Loki x Tony Stark (apparently the kiddies totally ship it)

**Warnings:** Slash, fluffiness, introspection, insecurity, Jotun culture, skin magic, blindfolds, Loki feels, giggles and laughter, snuggles, furs, fun times in the snow, and Tony being a sneaky, sexy bastard because he just _is._

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to their respective owners.

**Author's Note: **Happy New Years everyone! :D This is my last piece of writing for 2013, so of course it had to be FrostIron, because these idiots have officially ruined my life. This is a follow up to my main fic, _Just a Rose on a Star _but it is also a **standalone.**

I decided to be dumb and forego sleep to write this... and now at the end, I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with it. Oh, well. This is just a fluff ball of feel-good family feels and love and snow. Because FrostIron, and the kiddies. They're all idiots, seriously. Life ruiners, the lot of them.

All comments and commentary are most appreciated. Hope you enjoy this little oneshot.

My personal voice references for the boys: Fenrir – Misha Collins (Castiel, _Supernatural)_; Jörmungandr – Mark Pellegrino (Lucifer, _Supernatural)_; Sleipnir – Alan Cumming (Black Beauty, 1994 film version).

**In the Valley of Frozen Leaves**

* * *

"_Tell me who admires and loves you, and I will tell you who you are."_

_~Antoine de Saint-Exupery_

* * *

It wasn't Jotunheim, but it called the same. The snow, the way the flakes danced in the air, kissed his skin, floated amongst the trees – he could hear it, like a drum beat, deep in his blood. For a brief moment, as the white blooms caught in his lashes, blurred on the edges of his vision, he wanted to surrender to it, to answer the war cry with one of his own. The voice of a terrible, bestial instinct that had lain dormant for millennia, unheeded and unheard deep inside him, and Loki knew that to give in, to slip out of the careful control he'd perfected would be so, _so easy_. The transformation into little more than a beast of the wilds, a monster chasing the snow had never been tempting before, but for a heady second, he could feel his insides lurch with such unbridled _want _it left him out of breath. Like looking over the edge into bare nothingness, just before the plunge.

His own fear clamped down on the impulse with enough vehemence his hands shook with the effort to keep from backing down, and as he clutched the discarded coat in his hands, he wondered, not for the first time, just what in the Nine Realms he was doing, what he was about to do, _willingly._

For so long he had lived in contempt of the monster hiding in his bones. He'd been content in his ignorance of its powers and abilities, seeing nothing but ugliness and worthlessness in his blue, magicked skin. But now, now he was being encouraged to _confront_ it, to delve into the wonders hidden in the cords of his veins. In this place of snow and ice, where the winds shook in the trees and the wilds beckoned, he was the only one hesitating. The only one hinged on the uncertainty of the beast inside him, the only one who claimed to see a monster.

Loki pulled the coat closer to his chest, breathed in the scent heavy in the folds of the fabric. In the cold, he could almost imagine it warm again, because the aroma brought forth a year's worth of comfort and safety he had grown to desire as he had never needed before, the acceptance and calm that fueled his every action and thought. The smell of a home he had never hoped to find again. What he had done for such warmth, what he was about to do, managed to surprise him almost as much as the mortal who challenged him to earn it.

His mother had always said that love made fools of even the stoutest minds.

"You are not second-guessing this, are you, _faðir__?" _

Loki sighed as his son came to his side from the shadows behind, sidling up close so Loki could rest a steadying hand on his shoulder. This venture had been his idea for the most part and the great black wolf stared at him expectantly in smug satisfaction. The look, coupled with the familiar green of his eyes, soothed something in him even as another spike of fear pricked his insides like a thorn. Chuckling softly, Loki mussed Fenrir's ears in an effort to relax, until Fenrir was growling in the same manner a content cat would purr, his massive frame vibrating with the sound.

"Even if I was, we've come too far for anything else," Loki reasoned. He could feel the pride and excitement emanating from his son and patted him more firmly, bracing his resolve. He'd failed his child once. He'd be damned if he allowed such disappointment again. He had his pride to think about. "And I am no coward."

"Only when it counts," Fenrir rumbled and Loki shoved him with a playful scoff, ruffling the thick scruff of his neck. The wolf side-stepped him easily, batted snow over his boats in a careless shift of paws. Loki kicked it back into his face. He didn't even try to dodge, just shook himself out with a bark of laughter. "Of course you'd believe yourself so strong. _Anthony_ is watching."

Loki scowled at that but only stood straighter, not bothering to refute it. Fenrir gave a low, delighted _woof_ in victory.

"So, where exactly have we come to?" came a deep hiss beside them. Scaling an oak tree, the snake wrapped about a welcoming branch, a study of nonchalant grace. Fenrir snorted at his brother.

"Anthony called it Canada, or some such place," the wolf sniffed. "Apparently Midgardians have made homes in such wilderness, though this particular forest remains more or less untouched." Jörmungandr leveled them both with a fairly unimpressed stare, dark red eyes narrowed in boredom.

"I do not see why we could not have just returned to the Blue World." He flicked his tail free of snow, the dawn light shimmering over his brown scales at the movement. "Your mortal seemed more than amiable to the suggestion, _faðir_."

"While the idea of Stark running rampant on Jotunheim paints an amusing picture," Loki assented, "knowing him as I do, that would be a _terrible_ idea."

"But that's what makes it _fun_," Jör was quick to point out. Loki ignored him in favor of the man in question, who chose that moment to step out from the tree line, furs in hand. Catching his gaze, his mortal cast away his shirt with a careless shrug, a predatory smirk in place.

"I'll totally run naked if you want me to," Tony called over, a challenge plain on his face. He let the furs hang uselessly over his arms while he waited for some signal, and seeing his skin laid bare to the elements, the sheer vulnerability of it and the arc reactor gleaming as it caught the sunlight, called to Loki's inner self more completely than the voice of the forest ever could. His whole body tightened with it, something wild sparking to life. Tony took the hint and approached without a thread of caution, fully aware of the effect he had on his self control; his deliberately slow movements as he pulled the furs around his body, over his back, draping his shoulders and chest set his Jotun blood on fire.

"Are we doing this or what?" Tony asked him when he was close enough for Loki to feel his body heat. His grin was eager but soft, and Loki knew that if he backed out now, he would be teased for all eternity but never fully blamed. That, even now, he had a choice not to do this. Though, with the way the axis of his world seemed to tilt forward until Tony was center focus and compass, Loki doubted he would have the strength needed to turn away from this. The Jotun beast was awake and, for the first time in his life, the focus of someone's complete attention. Tony wanted him, _all _of him, and Loki could read it easily in the dark depths of his eyes, fearless wonder and determination darkening the hues.

"To call the monster is to accept the consequences," Loki surrendered the last of his fear. Tony stole it away from his lips, smile warm and confident.

"It's not Beauty and the Beast," he chuckled, drawing him down until their foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingling in a cloud of frozen air. Carefully, the heat of fingers slid under the hem of fabric at his waist, easing upwards. Loki let the coat drop from his hands and Tony pulled his tunic off him. The bite of cold was immediate and Loki fought back an uncomfortable shudder, even as his Jotun side reared its head in delight. Sliding the blindfold from his belt, Tony sealed Loki into darkness, tying the knot with a breathless kiss.

"I'm not afraid of the blue," he whispered against his mouth. His words were rich with intent and promise, the thrill of what was to come quickening his breath, his pulse. Loki could almost hear his heart beating strongly, full and honest. "It's still _you_, Lokes. You need to realize that. And it's not really a _hunt_-hunt, so if you try to eat me we're gonna have words. You're just chasing. And I'm just waiting for you to catch me."

He was pulled into a final, heated kiss, and everything seemed to hold its breath, every shred of his awareness coming alive as he breathed Tony in. His senses sharpened, his blood spiking, magic howling gleefully in his mind, and then there was nothing else. Just the trees and his sons and the snow and the wind… and Tony, Tony, _Tony_.

"I believe you should be running," Loki warned, his voice stripped down to its most feral pitch, savage and delighted. He was surprised by the ease to which the smile came and tipped fully over the precipice. His Jotun skin thrummed to life in a rush of fire. Tony laughed, more freely and fully than Loki had ever heard, before turning and charging full tilt into the woods.

A pleading whine escaped Fenrir as Tony's steps slowly disappeared and Loki tilted his head to catch the last of the sounds, tracing the direction in his mind, ears straining. His son brushed against his side and Loki stroked his ears out of habit, lost in concentration. Emotions rose to his fingertips, swirling in chaos while Fenrir fidgeted in place, and Loki could _feel _the wolf's desire to run after so long chained to a rock to keep until the end of the world; he wanted to chase, to sweep Tony up and away further into the forest, to heighten the game, to feel the snow underfoot, to dash between the trees. Loki caught his breath at the rush of feeling, not used to such strength in the connection. Curiosity rose to counter the heady rush of want that had risen in him too, wonderment at such a perfect link, the ability of true Jotun skin touching Jotun skin.

"Go," he bid his son and Fenrir howled long and loud before giving chase, tearing easily through the underbrush. Loki rubbed his thumbs over his fingers, slightly overwhelmed at the imprint Fenrir had left behind. His skin hummed in the cold, but his insides were hot like a furnace. He no longer felt the snow or the sunlight; it dissolved into a flurry of sound, a sweet taste on the tip of his tongue. The trees whispered in the breeze, beckoning him in, calling. And somewhere in the mass of trunks and bushes, a honeyed scent that weaved in and out of the darkness, a golden trail lighting up like a fairy road in the map of Loki's consciousness.

"Don't ignore it any longer, _faðir_," Jör huffed at him and Loki could hear the way his scales shifted against the bark. He turned his head toward it.

"You do not wish to come?"

"And be jostled around in your pocket?" He sounded rather indignant about the idea. "_Pass_. I'll be perfectly fine on this branch, thank you very much. Now quit stalling. Oh, and topple Fen for me, would you? Head over paws. I'll be disappointed if I don't hear his pitiful whelps from here."

Loki laughed in promise, lifting his hand sideways. Jör smoothed his head into his palm, just long enough for Loki to feel the pride rippling through him, the amusement, the pleasure of the day, his contentment to being outside and no longer drowning in salty seas, of being surrounded by family and new friends. Then Loki let his instincts fall forward, his remaining senses guiding him headfirst into light and laughter.

Images appeared in his mind, mapping out the various trees and branches and snowflakes tittering at his game, encouraging him onward, horrible gossipers pointing down the trail of his son and his mortal. Loki felt the log coming and leaped over it, hit the ground running.

Blood singing, he ran as fast as he dared through the woods he couldn't see.

* * *

As a child, Loki had often gone into the forest nearest the city. With his magic still new and strange, hearing the voices in the trees had been an odd comfort, the gentle singing of the flowers a calming backdrop to his studies as he learned. He could make mistakes without thought of judgment in their presence. He could trade secrets with the four winds and ask directions from any agreeable plant. Even some rocks were willing to offer up some helpful rumors about the nearest water spring or cave to spend the night. Loki had never been lost in that regard. The trees were always happy to tell him where he was, the winds where he could go. It was an ability he had never questioned and Loki couldn't help but wonder now, why that had been.

The more he ran his course, the more brilliant he felt. His legs moved in perfect unison with the ground, the snow giving up any obstacles in his path and the tracks he sought out of hundreds of others. He had never even been in these woods yet they welcomed him like one of their own, allowing him to move like he had been raised alongside each seedling and oak tree sprouting anew along the trail. The winds flattened out all other smells for him, allowing him to hone on the scent of home as it twisted over pathways and deer tracks. All the while, the trees cheered him onward, driving away any doubts and insecurities with the confidence of knowing where to go and how to get there. Wisps of snow trickled down from their branches as they giggled, pleased by his advance.

Fenrir had crossed Tony's path twice now, zigzagging over his footprints. A haze of musk and ice cut through the warm scent leading him through the brush. It was a clever tactic, all things considered, but it had not cleansed the snow of Tony enough to deter him. Locking onto the prints as they lit up in his mind, he matched Tony's stride, his feet falling into each press the other man's boots had left behind.

Following this course, Loki made good progress until he stumbled into a break in the trees. Fenrir had crossed again, but this time, Tony's tracks disappeared altogether.

The snow was quick to point out the paw prints in the snow, Tony's scent mingling with Fenrir's heavy aroma. The image of Tony riding on the back of the giant wolf made him grin wide, and as Loki slowed his pace, sniffing them out, he could hear the trees calling in the distance, eager to point out the correct, new trail back through the tree line. His feet adjusted course nearly all on their own, and soon he was cutting across the small clearing, breaking right for the trees that offered up the surest route. Clearing another fallen log, Loki chuckled when the snow revealed the roundabout pattern of prints Fenrir had left for him. He allowed himself to pause, staring with blind eyes down the trail, allowing his magic to seep out, seeking the straightest shot to the final destination.

A young pine was quick to drop some snow, the sound catching his notice. Ducking under the low branches, the trail yawned wide, and three sets of prints took off from where only one had been before. The snow surrendered these new tracks and they hummed brightly against the glow of scent. Hooves, rounded and un-cloven. There were enough sets for two, but only in the length of one. Loki's pulse jumped when the smell of horse registered, the golden grains of straw bedding and sunshine a thick, coiling ribbon of sensation.

The crunch of tiny rocks added to his excitement, a new sound amongst the whispering snowflakes. It meant the trees were growing denser, closer together and smaller, opening to a rock face. The branches above worried about him miss-stepping on the icy floor, but his Jotun blood was sure with every step he made, his balance perfect, his senses sharp. The tracks revealed Tony had slowed here, pushing between trees to give him more of a challenge, and Loki took the plunge, urging his legs faster where all others had paused.

Snow fell free to his left, alerting him to the presence of another clearing. Fenrir's tracks suddenly broke for it, while Tony had continued on. Loki finally came to a halt at the fork in the road, Fenrir's prints veering off course; Tony's dissolving into a collection of hooves.

Tony was, of course, the prize of this hunt, and all of Loki's instincts screamed at his stillness, begging him to keep going, never, _ever_ stop, until he could drown forever in the scent and warmth of home. But the chance of a nice prank was fuller on the other path, the promise of good fun teasing his desires, distracting the Jotun side long enough to make a decision. Mischief had always had a strong pull on him... and he _had _promised.

His magic laid a marker on the crossroads and Loki doubled back, lengthening his strides like a warrior to battle, barreling through the underbrush and into open plain. With impossible speed, he crossed the field in three breaths, and then his hands were full of the warm, yelping mound of his son. They tumbled into the snow bank in a mess of limbs and fur. Fenrir flailed madly, trying to gain some traction on the disturbed snow. Loki just let himself slide along the curve of the land, unable to breathe through the sheer force of his laughter.

* * *

Sleipnir was much harder to keep track of. Not that Loki expected anything less from the son he'd birthed. His tracks were varied and serpentine, the great horse making swooping circles around and between trees, challenging the lowest branches and thinnest spaces. It forced Loki deeper into his magic, deeper into the Jotun instincts to keep moving through the thickening brush without the aid of his eyes. Being the prized mount to the Allfather himself, with the power to transverse the entirety of the Nine Realms and different dimensions, by principle alone, the stallion would _have _to be a noteworthy challenge to live up to his own fame. And all of Asgard had once wondered why Loki had chosen to name him 'slippery-one'.

The trees were enjoying the game they were playing. If it wasn't for the faint scent of Tony still on the tracks, Loki would have believed Tony had somehow climbed one without his notice and was still there, smug in his victory. As it was, Tony had kept on with Sleipnir, though with such a weaving and claustrophobic pattern the trail was becoming, Loki had to wonder just how much more of the twists and turns Tony could take before falling off. Tony was by no means a horseman, and an eight-legged ride was a whole different kettle of fish. That Tony had made it this far was impressive.

Still, Loki had to bite back a loud snort when Tony's stumbling footprints reappeared. The trail was covered in a thin layer of snow, where the canopy above had been too thick for the full weight of white to penetrate. As such, the tracks were barely there. Even without the blindfold, Loki would've been hard-pressed to see them. Frozen leaves crunched wetly under his boots as he crouched low, feeling along the dead grass. The scent was strong here, coaxing the embers in his insides to burn afresh. He forced his feet to pause once again as Sleipnir's tracks slowed and turned away, doubling around and back. Another crossroad; the promise of Tony at the end of one trail, the promise of a son on the other.

Tony's smell drugged the Jotun side, a fire in his joints like a machine marching to its endgame. A careful drag of his knuckles against the leaves alerted him to the fact that Tony was close by, very close in fact, and the magic in his skin sparked in his veins. Loki felt the sensation, allowed it, then abruptly turned away, his mind shifting onto the tracks of the stallion. There was a disappointed burn in his chest as the wild instinct protested in a brief flare of flames, but once his full concentration settled on Sleipnir, it allowed the setback.

He stopped cold when he felt the Jotun side relent, wide-eyed behind his blindfold, wondering how it could be so easy. Loki knew he could control it; that had never been the issue. But he'd expected some _resistance_, a struggle, much like his animal transformations, where the instincts of the forms taken were in constant battle for control. The growing, utter _need_ to get to Tony was stronger than almost anything he had ever felt and gaining strength; the heat burning low in his gut held an urgency usually reserved for life and death situations, and even then, he had never experienced such a longing and desperation powered by such a feral impulse. As though Jotuns focused on one desire at a time, barreling towards it with all the subtly of a bull. The greater the prize, the greater the fire lit inside. And his was billowing into a furnace.

It was that single-mindedness of monsters he had learned from experience was difficult – impossible even – to handle. He could feel it was of such magnitude. Yet, it didn't fight back like a proper beast should. Instead, it responded to him, his every whim, even when he traveled off target. Curious, Loki canted his body back towards Tony's trail. Almost instantly, the instincts began howling, clawing desperately under his skin. Pain rocked his chest like a panic attack, panic that he was losing the trail, that Tony wouldn't be there when he went to look. Then a rolling wave of determination clashed with the fear; that he would search until Tony was found, one way or another.

Loki frowned in wonderment, reeling from the instincts he could read. Slowly, he twisted on his heels and spun the opposite direction, his mind map snatching up Sleipnir's tracks. Immediately the fires died down, letting him know that he had not been imagining it, that it had not been a random happenstance. That he was in complete control of this beast. A knowledge that should not have surprised him as deeply as it did.

"You look a bit lost, _móðir_," Sleipnir whickered softly from somewhere near his right. An entirely new sort of longing filled him and he reached out a hand, feeling much more like himself the moment a velvet muzzle lipped gently at his fingers. Loki used the contact to draw in close to his son, dip under his neck to embrace him tightly. Having extra front legs meant Sleipnir could return the gesture whole-heartedly and Loki could feel the low rumble of laughter tremble out of the stallion as he held him close.

"Animal not as animal as it used to be?" Sleipnir teased him. "I would have thought you would've known the difference by now. You are, after all, my maremother, and while I'm quite sure the circumstances of my birth were an accident, I'm still the proof that the basest animal instincts trump magic any day. If Jotuns were truly animals, I don't think this merry little chase of yours would be going half so well."

"You know I hold no love for this form," Loki defended, though the truth of his son's words was more than a little valid. Sleipnir released his hold and allowed Loki to step back. He could feel his considering, gentle stare, as well as his amusement.

"Whether you love it or not is of little consequence, especially when you have found one who loves it enough for the both of you." He stamped a trio of hooves. "I know you, _móðir_. I know that hatred will not hold sway over your curiosity forever. My brother may have held the idea of this hunt, but it was your own decision to agree. Blame it on your Anthony all you like, but at the end of the day the man is guilty of little more than poor horsemanship."

Loki chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Quite a feat, considering he's never before riddena _normal_ horse, let alone one of your caliber."

"Oh." A swishing tail, a gentle snort. "Well, in that case, he did very well. His balance is rather fantastic, I must say."

"A man of good balance, whose only guilt is loving me," Loki reasoned out. He rubbed a hand against his chest, feeling the raised lines of his unwanted inheritance. An odd bloom of pain blossomed under his touch. "If this is your way of saying I'm no monster in this skin, no animal, then why do my instincts tell me to go to him and him alone? Why is Stark the only thing I can think about, all that matters? He is not the anchor of my destiny, nor the center of my universe. He wouldn't want to be."

"You _are _still on a hunt," Sleipnir reminded him with a toss of his head. "The primal urge to chase and catch. I suppose the Jotun instincts are just stronger, but they are still your own."

For once, Loki was glad of the blindfold, for the Look that his son leveled at him practically dripped with glee.

"Don't forget that Anthony is _still _the prize to be had. He's running for _you, _so that you may find some good in this_. _Is that not reason enough?"

* * *

He found Tony in a rocky clearing, about to slide down a snow bank to reach the small valley below. The moment his magic zeroed in he could feel a rush of victory and pride he had never felt, and the spark of something wild and dangerous. It took everything in him not to pronounce his triumph for the whole forest to hear, and instead, focused his desire into the catch point, slanting his body and rushing forward just as Tony neared the edge of the drop. Off balance and crouched over, he made an easy target.

The snow-covered rocks slipped easily under his boots as he scooped his mortal up by the waist and spun in place to keep him from struggling away, barking a sharp laugh at his seamless catch.

"Jesus _shit – _fucking _cold_!" Tony gasped, squirming in his grip. Loki brought them to a standstill and set the smaller man down. The heat of him sent a pleasant _zing _firing down his arms and he could feel the beginnings of laughter bubbling in him the more Tony forced out curses around what was probably a dopey smile. The thrill of the catch had his adrenaline going and something in him was still waiting for the next move. The desire to be near Tony was at least dying down at least now that he was in his arms, and he could feel the smug satisfaction practically _glowing_ out of Tony as he stretched into him, kissing him soundly, as though he were no chillier than a snowman.

"Those sneaky kids of yours had better not be peeping," he hummed against Loki's mouth with a blissful sound. "I told you going blue was good for your health. And this has got to be my new favorite version of frostbite, ever. Why the hell haven't we done this before?"

"Stark," Loki huffed a soft laugh. "Because you truly _will _get frostbite if we continue with this."

"Don't care," Tony snarked but eased back anyway into the cradle of his arms. "This was fun though."

"I will admit this… has exceeded some of my wildest expectations." Loki allowed himself a self-satisfied grin. "A shame I have proved the victor so soon, however, and you an easy catch."

"_Easy, _am I?" He knew the feel of that wicked smirk even blinded. "Who said this was over, Smurf King?"

Then the blindfold was gone and it was just a piercing whiteness of sun on snow. Loki blinked hard against the spots dancing across his vision, but didn't recover nearly in time. A snowball hit perfectly against his cheek and he hissed as his eyes screamed at the sudden invasion. Tony cackled madly, uncaring of his sudden agony, and waved the blindfold like a war banner, before leaping down the edge of the snow bank and into the valley.

Then Tony actually took off running, _again. _And he didn't even look back. Loki growled low in his throat, adrenaline building as the surprise from the attack faded out. The Jotun instincts re-focused, razor sharp, and Loki tore down the slope after him, rolling at the bottom straight into a dead sprint. His eyes locked onto Tony like a target; his legs pumped hard like the cogs of Tony's machines, his body moving effortlessly over the deep snow. He could feel his body come alive all over again, taste the scent of Tony, _home, _in the air, and the desire for it all came back full force, urging him forward. All his power accumulated into the chase, into closing the distance, and just as the tree line became crystal clear through the haze of snow and sunlight, Loki _pounced, _dragging Tony down with him in a mess of limbs and curses.

They rolled together, bouncing through the snowdrifts, a ball of hysteric laughter. Loki used the momentum as they slowed to pin Tony under him and their combined weight dropped them into the full depth of the bank. He could feel his world tipping forward once again, victory singing in his veins at a true catch, Tony laughing heartily as he drew him in, center focus and compass all in one. The furs were a haphazard mess against the snow at his back and frozen leaves crinkled under Loki's boots as he lowered his body carefully down over Tony's, chuckling at the strangled little noise that left his mortal when the full chill of him registered.

Arms snaked around his neck and Loki could _taste _the mirth they shared, the breathless wonder of the chase.

"Look at you, all smug and blue," Tony grinned hugely against his mouth. Snowflakes caught on his lashes, catching in the light, giggling at the two of them. "Beginning to wonder just who caught who."

"It matters not," Loki smiled back, his Jotun skin singing as Tony traced the markings over his shoulders, up his neck, over his cheek, a rush of warmth and acceptance. _"You_ were always the prize."

* * *

**El Fin.**


End file.
